


Her Own Hero

by aem77



Category: Nothing Much to Do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-13 22:40:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2167854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aem77/pseuds/aem77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One Hero died defiled, but I do live.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Own Hero

She demands herself to stop crying. Pinching her eyes shut as tightly as possible, biting her inner cheek, even screaming into her pillow, hadn’t done the trick. But it was late, so very late and it was time. Time to stop, time to stop crying. _Be more like Beatrice_ , she reasons to herself. Don’t leave every emotion on the table for anyone and everyone to see, to use, to abuse. Be more like Bea.

For a moment miraculously it seems to work and the tears abate. Her mouth is dry with sobbing and her tongue feels fat and slightly acidic in her mouth. She idly thinks about getting up to get a glass of water. Sighs a bit imagining how cold and refreshing it would feel to take a long satisfying gulp, but quickly abandons the notion. Though she hasn’t heard her in over an hour, Hero can almost feel Beatrice’s presence beyond the door, standing sentry, mama bear mode fully engaged. Even as she loves Beatrice infinitely for her concern, Hero hates her cousin for her guard, her scrutiny. She’s done nothing wrong, nothing beyond loving and trusting too much and too soon, but those can hardly be regarded as true sins. And yet, Bea’s worried attention makes her flush with embarrassment. And just like that the tears fall fresh again along her chapped cheeks.

Can’t she understand that all Hero wants is for the last 24 hours to be erased? For everyone, herself included, to forget? She longs for every horrible word that fell from Claud’s lips to tumble back into his mouth like a film in reverse. She imagines for a moment words toppling comically into Claud’s lips (those same lips she’d longed for and rejoiced in) chocking him, leaving him gasping for air. The image brings a watery smile to her own lips even as she heaves a fresh sob.

She’s done nothing wrong and yet she _feels_ guilty. Embarrassed by the accusations, so much so that she doesn’t imagine she’d feel much worse than if she _had_ truly cheated. Surely that couldn’t be right? That someone should ache with remorse when they’d done nothing wrong? Oh that she were a man! She can’t imagine any of the boys she knows, whether guilty or not, would feel this sort of shame. But shame seems second nature to her now.

Maybe this is adulthood, she wonders sadly. Forever existing in the minds of others, elated with their exaltation and defiled in their rejection. Because what does guilt matter when it forever stains the eyes of those whose opinions you care about? Claud had seen a whore in her, and all the truth in the world couldn’t erase that from his gaze. Beatrice, caring loving Beatrice, had seen a victim. Beatrice had never doubted her, Hero knows, but Beatrice will never be able to look at her again without that trace of pity hovering between them.

Tomorrow when the sun rises on the abandoned living room, paper plates and plastic cups left forgotten on the coffee table, the Hero she had been will have died, slain by Claud’s cruel accusations. No one will ever look at her the same again. And yet, as she lies here in her bed exhausted with her grief, she lives. Whoever opens her eyes to tomorrow’s morning light won't be the Hero of old. Not Leo’s Hero, not Claud’s Hero, not even Bea’s Hero. She can never trust their eyes again. She'll need to be her own Hero from now on. The idea thrills her, though whether from fear or excitement she doesn't know.


End file.
